Huang Rong from The Return of the Condor Heroes: Brother Jing, let's get a divorce.

These personal guards were much more composed than ordinary soldiers.

Instead of running around, they untied sturdy cowhide rope nets from their waists.

Four people pulled a corner of a net and slung it over Yang Guo's head.

Just as Yang Guo smashed a soldier's skull, he looked up and saw a large net falling down.

He sneered and raised his heavy sword to slash upwards.

But he underestimated the toughness of the leather rope.

The Xuan Tie Heavy Sword was unsharpened; it was effective at striking people, but it couldn't cut the oil-soaked cowhide rope.

The greatsword was entangled in the rope net.

The Mongol soldiers on all four sides pulled backwards with all their might.

Yang Guo felt a great force coming from the hilt of the sword, and he staggered forward, almost falling.

"Grab him! Poke his leg!"

The commander was overjoyed and immediately ordered his spearmen to thrust forward.

Five or six spears pierced Yang Guo's legs from below.

Yang Guo's heart sank.

I was careless just now.

If he loosens the hilt of the sword, the person can dodge, but this heavy sword of Dugu Qiubai will fall into the hands of the Mongols.

If you keep holding on, your legs will definitely get several transparent holes from being poked.

The lesser of two evils.

Yang Guo gripped the sword hilt tightly with both hands, refusing to let go.

He took a deep breath and poured all the innate true energy in his dantian into his arms.

"Get the hell over here!"

Yang Guo roared, his arm muscles bulging, and forcefully pulled the four Mongol soldiers holding the rope net forward two steps.

Using this reaction force, Yang Guo's legs left the ground and his body soared into the air.

All five spears missed their mark, instead embedding themselves in the mud close to the soles of his shoes.

Yang Guo used his waist to propel himself through the air, spinning around with his heavy sword and rope net.

The four Mongol soldiers pulling the net were lifted off the ground by the enormous rotating force and crashed together, their heads bleeding profusely.

The rope net has loosened.

Yang Guo landed and pulled the sheathed dagger, which had been coated with anesthetic, from his boot with his left hand.

The dagger was drawn from its sheath, its blade incredibly sharp.

He slashed hard on the leather rope, and the rope net immediately tore open a large hole.

Yang Guo tucked the dagger back into his waistband and gripped the heavy sword again with both hands.

He's really angry now.

These Mongols were as annoying as flies, and they almost caused him a great loss.

"You will all die here today."

Yang Guo no longer conserves his strength.

He strode toward the guards who were carrying spears.

One of the guards thrust his spear forward.

Yang Guo did not dodge, but grabbed the white waxwood shaft of the spear with his left hand.

The guards tried to wrest it back, but found that the spear shaft was as if it were cast into an iron ingot, and did not move at all.

Yang Guo raised the heavy sword with his right arm and slammed it horizontally into the ribs of his personal guard.

The sound of bones breaking echoed in the night.

The soldier's chest cavity caved in completely, his internal organs were smashed, and he collapsed to the ground without even spitting out any blood.

Yang Guo did not stop.

He was like a tiger charging into a flock of sheep.

Every swing of the greatsword inevitably takes a life.

He neither cuts nor stabs.

Just smash it.

It hit his head, shattering his skull.

It hit my shoulder, dislocating my arm.

It hit his thigh, breaking his leg.

The ground was littered with mutilated corpses.

The stench of blood in the air was so strong it made one want to vomit.

The remaining dozen or so Mongol soldiers finally collapsed.

The commander's orders were no longer effective.

They dropped their weapons and fled out of the woods, crying and scrambling.

Qianhu was so angry that he trembled all over.

He knew he had been utterly defeated today.

The gunpowder being transported was destroyed, and his soldiers were almost all killed or wounded; returning would mean certain death.

He gripped the steel scimitar tightly with both hands, staring at Yang Guo with red eyes.

"You Han bastard! I'll fight you to the death!"

The commander, clad in heavy iron armor, strode toward Yang Guo.

The curved blade whistled through the air as it cleaved down.

Yang Guo was panting heavily.

Sweat mixed with black ash flowed into his eyes, making them sting and burn.

He looked at the charging commander and did not back down.

He raised the heavy sword with both hands and slammed it down to meet the curved blade.

when!

A deafening clang of metal clashing rang out.

Sparks flew everywhere.

The steel scimitar in Qianhu's hand was smashed open, leaving a large gash.

The powerful recoil force traveled along the hilt of the sword to the commander's arm.

His tiger's mouth was instantly shattered, and blood flowed freely.

Yang Guo was also suffering.

The heavy sword is too heavy.

The impact was so strong that his arms went numb.

And just as the curved blade was smashed open, Qianhu drew a short sword from his waist with his left hand and slashed Yang Guo's left thigh.

The skin and flesh were torn open, and fresh blood flowed out.

Yang Guo winced in pain, his brows furrowing into a knot.

He took a half step back and looked down at the wound on his leg.

The wound wasn't deep, just a superficial injury, but it bled quite a bit.

When Qianhu saw that Yang Guo was injured, he was overjoyed.

He threw away the dulled scimitar, gripped the short sword with both hands, and charged forward again.

"You're asking for it."

Yang Guo spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva.

He did not use the greatsword again.

The greatsword is too long, making it difficult to use in close combat.

He planted the heavy sword in the ground, bringing his right index and middle fingers together.

The red and black energy bead in his dantian spun wildly.

Pure Yang energy converges along the meridians to the fingertips.

One-Finger Divine Skill.

Qianhu's short sword was still half a foot away from Yang Guo's chest.

Yang Guo's finger was already touching Qianhu's iron armor breastplate.

The peak of the fifth rank, the One-Finger Divine Skill, possesses unparalleled domineering finger power.

The golden aura pierced through the thick iron armor and struck Qianhu in the chest.

Qianhu froze.

He lowered his head and stared blankly at the small hole in his chest from which blood was gushing.

The armor was penetrated.

His heart was shattered.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but only spat out a mouthful of black blood.

Its massive body crashed to the ground with a thud, striking the withered leaves.

The surroundings finally quieted down.

Only the embers from the distant gunpowder explosion were still crackling.

Yang Guo pulled the heavy sword from the ground, leaned on the hilt, and gasped for breath.

His back was completely soaked.

The wound on my left leg was still dripping blood.

This battle was exhausting.

There were no fancy moves, it was all about risking their lives.

The heavy sword, weighing seventy or eighty pounds, along with dozens of well-trained Mongol soldiers, almost exhausted him.

He raised his sleeve to wipe the blood and sweat from his face, then turned to look at the distant earthen slope.

"Butler Cheng, Wushuang, come out. The work is finished."

Yang Guo shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice a little hoarse.

He bent down and tore off a relatively clean strip of cloth from a corpse, then simply tied the wound on his thigh.

This is a place we can't stay for long.

The gunpowder depot exploded, and so many soldiers died.

If the Mongols had a large army following behind, they would immediately send cavalry to scout.

Yang Guo put the heavy sword back on his back and tied it tightly with strips of cloth.

He started walking, limping, towards the earthen slope.

We need to get those two girls out of this troublesome place quickly; they must be terrified.